Post by bonnieblue on Jan 7, 2018 23:14:35 GMT
Blue Monday
The bell rang loudly as Bonnie Blue hastily finished copying notes from the chalkboard, slammed her textbook shut, and shoved it all into a plaid backpack that she slung over her shoulder as she stood from her desk. She spilled out into the hall with a crush of students, merging into the flow and allowing it to carry her along. As the current neared the cafeteria, Bonnie cut through the stream of students, eager to meet up with her friends. She didn't notice the imposing form of Wade Moor coming the opposite way, until he nearly mowed her down. For a moment, he stopped short and glowered down at the little blonde girl in his way.
Bonnie tensed, breath caught in her throat, heart pounding. She wanted to say something, but her voice froze. Historically, they hadn't been friends; ever since she'd begun at New Blood High as a freshman, the two of them had been at odds, though something seemed different this year. Wade looked her over with an appraising eye, his expression shifting from open hostility to mild interest.
"Sorry, Bon," he murmured quickly, then stepped around her and vanished, leaving the young woman to stand there in disbelief.
"... whoa, wait -- he did what?" asked Alex Richards, later.
He, Bonnie, and an exchange student named L Verez were seated at one end of a long cafeteria table, finishing lunch while they talked.
"I know, right? It was so weird." Bonnie sipped her Dr. Pepper thoughtfully. "Is it just me, or is he kinda cute?"
"You're kidding," said L, glancing across the table at her friend. "Didn't you say he beat up another student who used to hang out with you?"
"That was a long time ago," Bonnie answered, a hint of defensiveness creeping into her tone. "Anyway, it's not like it matters; I'm not his type. Maybe he just forgot he was supposed to be a jerk for a minute."
"Probably," Alex agreed. "Besides, Wade and his friends are bad news. I heard they're into all kinds of weird shit. And not the good kind of weird, either."
"Hey, has anybody heard from DK?" L asked, abruptly changing the subject.
In response, Alex shrugged and Bonnie shook her head. Damian Kaine was the fourth member of their squad, though he'd been absent lately, and the others had vague concerns.
"Give him time," Bonnie advised. "He'll show up."
===================================================
Inside the Guardians' subterranean headquarters, beneath the streets of Chicago's chinatown, an artificial intelligence frets over the condition of its primary charge. Designated RIPPER-SEVEN, the machine consciousness had been installed to the team's supercomputer as a safeguard, meant to monitor and -- if necessary -- prevent them from taking actions in direct opposition to the Ripper's interests. Unexpectedly, however, the AI had become a valuable asset in their crimefighting pursuits over the months.
Just now, the AI studies the form of Bonnie Blue, sprawled on the floor of Nikola Tesla's laboratory, through the lens of a security camera set high in the ceiling. A tiny light blinks rapidly behind her right ear, where something small and metallic has attatched itself. Finely tuned sensors pick up the subtle signal being broadcast, the powerful core already at work decrypting each data packet sent. Almost as an afterthought, R-7 buries a backtrace in the code and turns a few nanobytes' attention to waiting on the return signal.
Meanwhile, a quick series of commands transmitted via Bluetooth rouse the android affectionately referred to as "Boudlebot." The mechanical man steps from his charging port and approaches the interface, holding up one hand, palm outward. From behind a flesh-toned panel, a cable snakes out and plugs into an available USB port to download a copy of R-7's programming. Privately, the AI is disgusted by the sloppy code already in place, but rather than dwell on it, he simply deletes everything except the firmware drivers, and settles in. He stretches, testing the machine's range of motion and calibrating his code to operate it correctly. Once confident in his new body, RIPPER-SEVEN stalks over to the prone Bonnie Blue, gazing down at her with an unreadable expression.
===================================================
Inside the Guardians' subterranean headquarters, beneath the streets of Chicago's chinatown, an artificial intelligence frets over the condition of its primary charge. Designated RIPPER-SEVEN, the machine consciousness had been installed to the team's supercomputer as a safeguard, meant to monitor and -- if necessary -- prevent them from taking actions in direct opposition to the Ripper's interests. Unexpectedly, however, the AI had become a valuable asset in their crimefighting pursuits over the months.
Just now, the AI studies the form of Bonnie Blue, sprawled on the floor of Nikola Tesla's laboratory, through the lens of a security camera set high in the ceiling. A tiny light blinks rapidly behind her right ear, where something small and metallic has attatched itself. Finely tuned sensors pick up the subtle signal being broadcast, the powerful core already at work decrypting each data packet sent. Almost as an afterthought, R-7 buries a backtrace in the code and turns a few nanobytes' attention to waiting on the return signal.
Meanwhile, a quick series of commands transmitted via Bluetooth rouse the android affectionately referred to as "Boudlebot." The mechanical man steps from his charging port and approaches the interface, holding up one hand, palm outward. From behind a flesh-toned panel, a cable snakes out and plugs into an available USB port to download a copy of R-7's programming. Privately, the AI is disgusted by the sloppy code already in place, but rather than dwell on it, he simply deletes everything except the firmware drivers, and settles in. He stretches, testing the machine's range of motion and calibrating his code to operate it correctly. Once confident in his new body, RIPPER-SEVEN stalks over to the prone Bonnie Blue, gazing down at her with an unreadable expression.
===================================================
Alex, L, and Bonnie huddled under the bleachers while the rest of the class ran halfhearted laps around the track. L kept a watch for Coach Viper as Bonnie took a hit from a hand-rolled spliff, then passed it to Alex. Richards took a long drag before passing it to the girl sitting cross-legged in the shade behind him. Dressed all in black, Rebecca snatched the joint without looking up from her book, toked, and handed it to Bonnie again.
"You know who'd be into this?" Alex asked no one in particular.
"Our boi Kaine?" Bonnie guessed.
Grinning, Alex nodded emphatically. His girlfriend finally closed her book and glanced up at the others.
"Well," she said, "considering I bought that shit off his uncle, he probably is."
"How cool is it that we know a guy who's uncle is Nova-Kaine, though?" said Alex. "I had Algebra with Cassidy last year, but he was kind of a dick."
Rebecca stood and dusted off her long, black skirt. Richards put an arm around her, pulling her close, and she smiled up at him.
"You think he'll come today?" L wondered aloud. "DK, I mean."
But before anyone could answer, a shadow loomed over the four friends. They had been so intent on Coach Viper that they'd forgotten to keep an eye out for his partner, Coach Rattlesnake.
People at this school have some strange names.
"Well, well.... ditching gym class, huh?" drawled the teacher. Then he sniffed the air theatrically. "And is that weed I smell? Turn around and let me see your hands!"
Quickly, Alex did the only thing he could think of, and swallowed the roach before he complied. Smiling broadly, he held up both hands for inspection, and the rest of them did the same. Rattlesnake scowled.
"Real cute, Richards. You may have got rid of the evidence, boy, but I caught all of you skipping class -- again. Detention doesn't seem to get the message across, so I guess you kids need to go see the principal."
All four of them gazed at him, unimpressed with the threat.
"NOW!"
Bonnie and her crew didn't wait to be told a third time, though they didn't exactly rush, either. She wasn't about to let some washed-up has-been order her around; not the Daughter of Time. One by one, they filed past Coach Rattlesnake, confident strides carrying them back toward the main building, the administration office, and whatever fate awaited them there.
The Samsung Galaxy Gear on her wrist chimed loudly, as if to remind Bonnie of something. A familiar voice filtered through the speaker, the tone commanding.
-- Wake up, foolish girl! Wake up! --
I'm already awake, stupid, she thought. Why the hell did I set an alarm like that, anyway?
She reached for the watch to shut off the alarm, and glanced at the screen. A text message scrolled by, the same two words: wake up. Bonnie shook her head, annoyed that her brand new smartwatch was already malfunctioning. She'd get Tesla to take a look at it later; for the moment, she had bigger concerns.
Bonnie Blue came to a stop in front of a closed door with a sign on it that simply read:
Vincent Pryde
Principal
Principal
Rebecca's fingers twined with Alex's, the only outward sign of nervousness any of them showed. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and smiled at his girlfriend, as Bonnie raised a fist to knock on the door.
"ENTER!"
The order came in deep, dramatic tones meant to intimidate; but Guardians didn't back down. Bonnie pushed on the handle and stepped across the threshold, leading her squad into the lair of the beast; which, admittedly, was far less sinister than any of them had anticipated. Heavy drapes covered the windows, though the room was brightly lit nevertheless. A desk, a couple of chairs, and a filing cabinet comprised most of the furnishings. Nothing to arouse suspicion, unless you considered a complete lack of reflective surfaces to be damning.
Behind the desk, wearing an ornate satin smoking jacket over a traditional shirt and tie, sat the man himself -- Vincent Pryde, scourge of the wrestling industry and owner of New Blood High. Of its own accord, the door swung shut behind them, trapping the Guardians in the principal's office. Pryde looked the four of them over, a predatory smile revealing, just for an instant, unnaturally sharp fangs.
"Miss Blue, I can't say this is unexpected. I've been waiting for you and your little crew of misfits to find your way to me -- and so you have. Though one seems to be missing, hmm?"
Never diverting his gaze from Bonnie's, Pryde smirked.
"Will Mr. Kaine be joining us today?" he asked, feigning curiosity. "No, no I daresay he likely won't. Perhaps tomorrow, then."
"We had an agreement, Pryde," Bonnie said, impatient with the theatrics.
He made a negligent gesture with one hand, dismissing her statement altogether. Rising from his seat, he walked around the desk to rest a hand on the young woman's shoulder.
"It would seem, Miss Blue, that you and your friends find no end of mischief -- and I really can't have that in my organization. You understand. Oh, but don't worry; I have the perfect way for you four to put your rather unique talents to work. Idle hands..." Pryde trailed off, chuckling wickedly.
===================================================
Gently laid out on a lab table, Bonnie Blue lies, R-7 clasping one of her hands in his own. Delicate instruments in the fingertips register heart rate, respiration, body temperature, brainwave activity, and a dozen other functions of the human body. A slight frown creases his synthetic brow. Her brain seems to be generating alpha waves, trapping her in some kind of dream state. Seven had already tried shouting at her, shaking her gently, and had even administered a mild electric shock, all to no avail. His tracer hadn't pinged back yet, so he had no idea where the implanted device might be transmitting to; only that it must be somewhere far beyond the immediate solar system.
R-7 searches his private server, looking for updates, new operating perameters, or anything else that might aid in this situation. He had been programmed to keep tabs on the Guardians, carefully maintaining a dossier on each of them, ready to neutralize any or all of them should they be deemed a threat; but this wasn't something RIPPER-SEVEN was equipped to handle. Logic dictates the simplest course of action: let someone else make the decision.
Satisfied with that reasoning, R-7 promptly sends out an emergency distress call to each of the Guardians.
===================================================
Gently laid out on a lab table, Bonnie Blue lies, R-7 clasping one of her hands in his own. Delicate instruments in the fingertips register heart rate, respiration, body temperature, brainwave activity, and a dozen other functions of the human body. A slight frown creases his synthetic brow. Her brain seems to be generating alpha waves, trapping her in some kind of dream state. Seven had already tried shouting at her, shaking her gently, and had even administered a mild electric shock, all to no avail. His tracer hadn't pinged back yet, so he had no idea where the implanted device might be transmitting to; only that it must be somewhere far beyond the immediate solar system.
R-7 searches his private server, looking for updates, new operating perameters, or anything else that might aid in this situation. He had been programmed to keep tabs on the Guardians, carefully maintaining a dossier on each of them, ready to neutralize any or all of them should they be deemed a threat; but this wasn't something RIPPER-SEVEN was equipped to handle. Logic dictates the simplest course of action: let someone else make the decision.
Satisfied with that reasoning, R-7 promptly sends out an emergency distress call to each of the Guardians.
===================================================
"I can't believe he's making us do this," Rebecca Thatch hissed through clenched teeth.
Beside her, Bonnie Blue nodded in agreement as she thrust a black-and-red pom-pom into the air in unison with the other girls. A blood-red sequined top stood out in stark contrast to the pale skin of her bare midriff; black sequined booty shorts clung like a second skin, shimmering under the stadium lights. All the other girls were dressed likewise, bouncing on the sidelines of the field with youthful exuberance.
"It's just until we get through Homecoming," Bonnie reminded her friend.
"I will murder someone before then," Rebecca told her. "Probably Pryde."
"You're gonna need a stake and a crucifix."
The head cheerleader, Vandalia, shot them a sharp glare; Bonnie rolled her eyes emphatically. Nevertheless, she persisted through the routine without further complaint, more or less. She and Rebecca bounced and jiggled and leapt and cavorted as if in rapturous ignorance of a hundred years of feminism, resenting every moment. Bonnie could feel Pryde's eyes on her, watching from the faculty section of the stands; it made her skin crawl.
As soon as the game was over -- they had won, of course; State Champions three years running, and this was shaping up to be the fourth -- L and Alex joined Becky and Bonnie on the sidelines.
"You guys want to get some pizza?" L asked.
"Oh, my gods, yes," Becky said. "I'm dying for some deep dish."
"Deep dish does sound good," Bonnie chimed in. "But we're not in Chicago. This is New York."
"No it isn't, Bonnie," L told her. "You're in Chicago. Chinatown. Don't you remember?"
"Chinatown?"
Around her, the high school stadium seemed to grow momentarily hazy before asserting itself into reality once more. Bonnie shook her head and tried to step back, but L had a firm grip on her forearm.
"Bonnie, look at me. You have to fight this. You have to wake up."
Behind L, Alex nodded in agreement, concern in his eyes.
"It's a dream," he assured her. "We're all figments of your imagination. You gotta wake up, partner."
"What?"
She hesitated. Hadn't everything seemed a little bit off? Why was she in high school? Bonnie had graduated years ago, working as a professional wrestler ever since. First for Wrestling Championship Federation, then United Championship Infinite, and now...
"New Blood!" Bonnie exclaimed, startling her friends. "It's a wrestlin' promotion, not a school. Oh, this explains why everything is so weird! But hang on -- now that I know I'm dreamin', shouldn't I wake up?"
L shook her head. "Not that simple, I'm afraid. You got a... thing... right here."
The alien pointed to a spot behind Bonnie's right ear.
"It's keeping you locked into a dream state, generating this high school fantasy to keep your mind busy. But it's also transmitting at a low frequency to a distant location. Seven thinks it's another galaxy, maybe. Anyway, now that I've told you what's going on -- "
" -- we're on the clock," Bonnie guessed, and L nodded. "It's recording, maybe analyzing, and now it's just a matter of time before whoever's receiving all that data realizes we're wise to the scheme. Ok, so, how do I wake up?"
"Well, that's the million-dollar question," L told her, as the scenery faded away to a sort of misty grayness. "What's the last thing you remember before all this school stuff?"
The Daughter of Time thought for a moment, brow furrowed in concentration. It was difficult to retrieve, as though the memory were being suppressed by some outside influence. Slowly, however, a series of images coalesced into a scene. She stood, face-to-face, with a vaguely humanoid creature. Eight feet tall, with supple hide that shone like steel, stretched over the metallic bones of a featureless face. Breath rasped from a series of spiracles that lined the sides of its neck. Clawed hands raked the air. There had been a struggle, and she had barely escaped with her life, hurrying back to the safety of Tesla's lab beneath the Drunken Dragon.
===================================================
RIPPER-SEVEN processes this information as quickly as L relays it.
A luchadrone, evidently enhanced with capabilities not previously encountered. Probability held that it had arrived from another reality. Further calculations indicate a statistical likelihood of another incursion; luchadrones meant the Dark Timekeeper, and the Dark Timekeeper did not give up easily. Seven worries about the data already sent. How much does he know about the girl and her powers? How much more might he guess at?
Concerns aside, he knows, at least, how to counteract the device. It is by no means a simple process, even for an intelligence as sophisticated as R-7; the task consumes all his considerable resources for the entirety of two and a half minutes. And then, with a soft whine of protest, the device detaches from Bonnie's skull and drops to the floor. Swiftly, Seven stomps down on it with a heavy boot, crushing it into millions of small fragments.
The smile that crosses his lips has nothing to do with relief or sentiment; merely a programming glitch missed in his purge of the android's original code.
RIPPER-SEVEN processes this information as quickly as L relays it.
A luchadrone, evidently enhanced with capabilities not previously encountered. Probability held that it had arrived from another reality. Further calculations indicate a statistical likelihood of another incursion; luchadrones meant the Dark Timekeeper, and the Dark Timekeeper did not give up easily. Seven worries about the data already sent. How much does he know about the girl and her powers? How much more might he guess at?
Concerns aside, he knows, at least, how to counteract the device. It is by no means a simple process, even for an intelligence as sophisticated as R-7; the task consumes all his considerable resources for the entirety of two and a half minutes. And then, with a soft whine of protest, the device detaches from Bonnie's skull and drops to the floor. Swiftly, Seven stomps down on it with a heavy boot, crushing it into millions of small fragments.
The smile that crosses his lips has nothing to do with relief or sentiment; merely a programming glitch missed in his purge of the android's original code.
===================================================
Upstairs, at the bar of the Drunken Dragon, the Guardians lift a solemn toast to the UCI. In front of an empty stool is an untouched boot of Zim-Quila, placed there in case Damian Kaine should arrive. For the rest of the team, the celebration is bittersweet. The ending of one era, and the beginning of the next.